


Dios has a middle name, Leo.

by NeyMessi_FCB (Sherlockophobia)



Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF, futbol - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Homelessness, M/M, Mentions of drugs, Messi is though, Neymar is a model, Neymar isn't a futbol player, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8481511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockophobia/pseuds/NeyMessi_FCB
Summary: Neymar is a seventeen year old just trying to find his way in the world. He's homeless living in São Paulo, Brazil, with his boyfriend Andrés. When Andrés gets arrested, Neymar is left trying to pick up the pieces and figure out his next move. He used to watch futbol all the time with his friends, back when he had a home, but that was a thing of the past. He idolized Ronaldinho and Lionel Messi. He wanted to be them.Life won't wait for you and that terrifies him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I am still writing La Liga: Violence and Tantrums, but this AU has been dancing around in my head for months. The first chapter is boring and horribly written, but I just wanted to get past it. I want to get to Messi and Neymar! Haha. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. It's a lot different from what I have done before. 
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated! Much love.
> 
> I also changed the title because that was the original title and I forgot it, oops.

He curled up on the giant piece of cardboard Andres dragged from the back of a grocery store a few blocks over. He hid his face in his arm, tightening up and sighing, wishing his boyfriend would return. It had been two days since he had seen him last and the only thing he could think of was he got arrested for drugs or stealing. He pressed his back up against the dumpster and thought about his home he ran away from a year ago. He was sixteen, rebellious, and needed to get away from his parents who almost consumed him in their own problems. A nasty divorce, cancer scare, blaming each other, and demanding he got straight A’s. Nothing physical ever happened, but his father yelled quite a bit. It was two months before he left that he met Andres. The man was eighteen, a drug addict, but had a motorcycle, which was pretty awesome in his eyes. He sighed and looked up at the street light before covering his face back up, shaking that from his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about Andres, how they met, or his family. Brazil was a terrifying place sometimes, especially when you do not have a home to go to for safety. A shiver ran down his spine and that was the final feeling he had before succumbing to sleep.

“Neymar. Neymar, wake the fuck up, babe. Come on, I scored some cocaine. Let’s do this together, it will be nice,” A voice yanked him out of the tender embrace of rest. 

“Go away, Andres,” He murmured and turned away from his partner, not wanting anything to do with drugs, especially right now. 

“Hey, get the fuck up,” The toe of a shoe met his ribs in a harsh kick and he groaned, sitting up from the ground and rubbing at his eyes. 

“Time?” 

“How the fuck should I know?” 

“You went out, I thought-. “ 

“Just shut up.” 

Neymar frowned and sighed, pulling his legs up to his chest, leaning against the dumpster, and watching Andres make a line of cocaine on the cardboard to snort. After getting one line down, he passed his straw over to Neymar who waved him away, burying his face in his knees. Bad move. A hand suddenly wrapped around his throat and pushed him further against the metal, hearing it creak slightly with the added pressure. His oxygen wasn’t entirely cut off, but his blood supply was, and he was feeling dizzy. _Fuck_. He tried to swallow, though it didn’t work as well as he had hoped. He looked into the eyes of Andres, pleading with them to be let go, but it was only when he was half unconscious that the strong hand fell from his throat. He gasped, rubbing at the sides of his neck where the fingers were, trying to massage and encourage the blood to return to his brain. He was certain there would be bruising. 

“Good job, only putas can’t handle being strangled,” Andres praised while Neymar coughed a few times. 

The man was abusive, probably psychotic, and Neymar was caught in a trap of his own heart. A bat flew overhead, letting out a screech of sonar, while a raccoon ran across the alley into a hole in a fence. His boyfriend went back to his drugs, shuddering while the drug took hold of him. He hated when the man did cocaine, because he always ended up angry. Four lines total and he was just staring Neymar down, a predator watching his prey, and Neymar kept still. He knew if he ran things would only get worse, so he waited, hoping the effects would not last too long. It was a large quantity and if he could remember anything from a health class he took back when he was in high school, it was that cocaine affects took fifteen to thirty minutes to subside. The staring didn’t stop and he shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, wondering what was going to happen. He missed when Andres was sweet, kind, and comforting. He held him after his nightmares, caressed his head when he was sick, and took care of him for months. One day he seemed to have just snapped, around the time he was getting into heavier drugs. 

“You didn’t get me anything for my birthday!” Andres abruptly shouted, pupils dilating. 

“Andres, baby, your birthday was a month ago,” He soothed, trying to get him to calm down. 

Andres growled, moving close to his face, speaking in a low voice, “Today is my birthday and you fucking got me nothing, you ungrateful bitch,” 

He forced his tongue into his mouth, deeply kissing him, bites and all, and Neymar nearly gagged from the taste of alcohol that was transferred from his boyfriend. He recoiled, but found a hand was in his hair, forcing him to stay there. Andres ran his tongue across his molars, flicked against his tongue, and a threatening growl emitted from his throat. Once the kissing stopped, his head was slammed back against the dumpster and he whimpered, reaching back to rub the minor injury. Andres was on his feet the next moment, pacing the alleyway, then quickly turning back to his boyfriend, eyes wider than normal. He cringed as he looked at Andres, worried about what was going to happen, wishing he could just go back to sleep. He was exhausted and he had that moment of escape before he was rudely awakened. Neymar looked down at his sneakers, staring at the mud on his toe, sides, and laces. They had trekked through the mud a few days ago, searching for a better place to stay, but nothing had turned up. 

“The cops are coming for us!” He screamed, running down the alley to the other end and looking both ways. 

Neymar sighed and stood up himself, about to go after him, when the brown haired man came trotting back to where they were. He was backhanded and spat on and he almost decided to block the next blow, before remembering what that would earn him. He whined pathetically as another slap landed across his face, backing himself up against the wall. A fist met his nose and he could have sworn it was broken. Blood trickled down onto his collar and he used it to wipe it away. Another punch to his gut sent him gasping for air, but he righted himself, preparing to take the next blow. His breathing was harsh and he just wanted to curl into a ball and vanish into thin air. In the next moment, Andres had laid down on the cardboard and passed out. It was almost as if nothing had happened, except Neymar spat out blood on the ground and he knew he would have more bruises come morning. He frowned and got onto the concrete, crawling over to his boyfriend and slinging an arm around his side. He winced while lying his face on the cardboard, trying to ignore the pain from the slap, and allowed himself to go back to sleep. 

Dawn woke the both of them from their slumber and Andres was sitting in front of him, examining the discoloration on his lover’s skin. Neymar pushed himself up into a sitting position as well and allowed Andres to dance gentle fingers across the bruises. He recoiled, but brought his head back to center, waiting for the examination to be done with. He was afraid he was going to be hit again and the pain from the beating before lit up his skin like fire. He was taken aback by the kindness, considering what had just happened earlier. Andres placed a quick kiss on his lips, looking at him sadly, almost as if he regretted beating him. Neymar was used to it and was used to worse, so he didn’t react in any way. One time he was hospitalized, but he just told the nurses that he had gotten into a fight with someone at school. One lung was bruised, wrist broken, and he had two black eyes. It could have been worse. He could have been paralyzed or killed or something. 

“I’m so sorry baby, did I do this? I didn’t know what I was doing, I’m sorry, you know that wasn't me,” Andres murmured, almost as if he was in a haze. 

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it,” Neymar replied, chewing somewhat on his lip where it wasn’t broken. 

“I’m gonna get us out of this situation today. I’m gonna get us a home and some food and heating,” He declared, smiling and standing up, offering his hand to the other. 

Neymar was confused, but he took his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up off the cardboard. “What do you mean?” 

“I’m gonna rob a bank and they’ll arrest us, but prison is a lot better than the streets." 

Neymar’s heart began to race at the announcement, “No, meu querido, please, we can’t do that,” 

“It’s okay, Ney, I’ll take care of you, just like I promised.” 

“No, look, if it’s money we need, I can just, I can just sell myself to people again, okay? It doesn’t have to be like this,” 

“Sure, go show people how much of a slut you are. Just come with me, stop being a baby,” 

“I can’t, _I can’t_ ," 

“Fine, I’ll go do it myself, since you’re too much of a puta. See you some other day, kid,” Andres shrugged and left, leaving Neymar to fall to his knees. 

He clutched at his hair and tugged on it, allowing sobs to shake his body. He was alone, he was alone and had no idea where to go from here. Andres left him and he couldn’t handle it. He let out a choked sound, trying to rip the hair from his scalp, before allowing a shout to escape. He was shaking and he sat back, moving his knees to his chest again like last night, and hit his forehead repeatedly against them. He was trying to convince himself that Andres would return and tell him it was just some sick joke, that everything was okay, and hold him to calm him down. His heart felt like it shattered into a thousand pieces or like someone shot an arrow into it. His lungs constricted and he gasped for air, crying still, and trying to see past the blurriness of his vision. He wiped at the tears and looked around, but he was still alone. He got up and ran to where he last saw Andres go, though he couldn’t see his lover anywhere. The closest bank was a mile away and he was afraid he would get lost, so he returned to his makeshift bed. Maybe if he stayed there, Andres would return. 

He thought about his light brown eyes that sometimes turned golden, his loving smile, the sharp canines that bit his flesh at times, the messy dark brown mop of unkempt dreadlocks on his head, and his lighter skin tone. That was something he always enjoyed looking at and comparing his own darker skin with Andres’. He was still crying and his stomach lurched, so he bent forward and attempted to vomit, though nothing came out because he hadn’t ate anything since yesterday morning. He screamed and slammed his hand down onto the concrete, allowing himself to lie back down and stare at the purple-pink sky while the sun came up. Tears were still running down his face; he felt lost, alone, and afraid. He was barely seventeen, no family, no friends, and no boyfriend. He wrapped one arm around his stomach and used his other hand to add pressure to the bruising around his neck to pretend Andres was still there. All he had now to remember him by was the black and blue marks. He lifted his shirt to see the one on his ribcage from the kick, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. He traced the mark and let out a heavy shaky sigh, closing his eyes and attempting to sleep again. 

He passed out about five minutes later, being thrust into a nightmare about Andres leaving him again. He cried out in his sleep, tossing and turning, tears welling up in his eyes again. He gasped for air and thrashed his limbs, attempting to reach for the missing Andres who was walking away from him again. Neymar was terrified, but there was nothing he could do about the situation at hand. His mind forced this nightmare upon him and he had to wait it out. He begged and pleaded just like before, but to no avail. A loud noise thrust him back into the real world, his heart racing, before he realized it was just a car backfiring. He whimpered, noticing Andres hadn’t returned, and decided he needed to try to figure out something to eat. 

The nightmare danced in his head, fueling his sadness, while he walked along a broken sidewalk. He turned his head to watch some children kick a soccer ball down the street, giggling and squealing as if they had nothing to worry about. He wished he had the same. He looked around at the buildings, noticing how run down they were, and how they all seemed to be the same color - an eggshell white with a salmon colored tiled roof. He felt like he was in _Edward Scissorhands_ where everything looked identical, except in that movie, houses were different colors. A dog barked at him from a separate alley and he ignored it, picking up his pace slightly, rounding into a different side street. He frowned, but someone across the way caught his attention. The man looked almost identical to… 

“Andres?”

**Author's Note:**

> Puta - Slut/Whore.  
> Meu querido - My Dear.


End file.
